A Day in the Life of Darth Vader
by Xarkun
Summary: Oneshot. A comedy about our favorite Sith Lord and his daily life, how he deals with drunk captains, alarms, lunch, and his favorite night time TV. Read and review. Rated T for some language and suggestive dialog. If I get enough reviews, might be a fic.


_A Oneshot by Xarkun  
_

_A Day in the Life of Darth Vader_

_Morning_

Sharp, at exactly six a.m. standard Coruscanti time, Lord Vader's alarm clock would shout an automated wake-up line, this morning's was.

"You're the lord and master! Those stormtroopers all are bastards! Force them to worship you, or you'll stab their eyes until they—"

But exactly what the stormtrooper's eyes would do if the Sith Lord stabbed them, we will never know, as Vader flicked off the alarm clock from his seated sleeping position upon a metal chair. Ever since Mustafar, Lord Vader was forced to sleep sitting up on highly uncomfortable objects, he found that if he laid down, his helmet would force his neck up, and in the morning it would be very stiff.

Even though the great Sith had shut off his alarm, he did not rise from his resting position, no, instead he _accidentally _fell back asleep. He did this every Tuesday, though, today happened to the Wednesday, it was also his and Padmé's anniversary, so he figured he might as well treat himself to some fun. You see, Lord Vader had instructed the weak minded fools on the bridge of his Star Destroyer the _Devastator_ that if he had not reported to duty by seven a.m. sharp, that he was probably asleep and wanted to be awoken.

Thus, every Tuesday, or in this case Wednesday, Captain Sober sent down a low level stormtrooper to awaken the Sith Lord. This morning, like yesterday morning, was no exception.

Very soon a stormtrooper entered Lord Vader's private bedroom to fulfill his suicide mission. Yes, it is true, Lord Vader only set up this protocol so he could kill his men with a good excuse.

The foolish lackey was very close now, he slowly extended a gloved hand to poke the apparently sleeping Sith in the shoulder. The moment his finger made contact, Lord Vader shot up, and began strangling the man. He wanted until the trooper discontinued his attempts to kick his attacker in the groin, and let him fall to the ground. Vader chuckled and headed off to the bridge after catching a quick bite to eat (very quickly, since all he could eat were three inch protein bars) and a couple minutes of his favorite early morning show on the restricted channels: Dead Chicks Gone Wild. It reminded him of Padmé (if she was scantily clad and soaking wet while being dead) and made him feel good inside.

_Mid Morning_

At precisely 7:02 a.m., Lord Vader arrived upon the bridge of the _Devastator _to begin a hard day's work of searching for Rebels.

"Yourrare later, sir," slurred Captain Sober.

"And you are a drunk bisexual pedophile, yet I still allow you to be captain, so, I suggest you shut your mouth and either drink yourself to death, allow me to kill you, or get on with your work. Which one?"

"Las'wrone!" Sober said quickly. He immediately began a drunken trudge toward a nearby control panel, upon which he fell asleep. Suddenly an alarm disturbed the silence of the bridge.

"What is going on?" Vader demanded to no one in particular.

"Sir," said a crew member near Sober who was currently trying to remove the passed-out captain from the control panel. "He fell on the red button!"

"THE RED BUTTON?!" Vader bellowed. "THIS IS A DISASTOR! SOMEONE, QUICK, FIND ME THE FUNCTION OF THE RED BUTTON!"

"Okey-dokey," answered a man in the crew pit. Upon his computer screen he pulled up a colorful list of buttons and their functions.

"Let's see… wait… this is printed in Espanol, sir."

"Force damn it!" the Sith Lord snapped. "Damn Espanolians are invading our galaxy, of course the Emperor just _has _to print everything in basic and Espanol! Damn it! Stupid Imperiocrat! Alright, pull up the list in basic."

The crewman madly keyed in random buttons upon his console as the alarm continued to blare, by now, everyone was bored and had gone back to their work.

"Okay, got it, let's see now. Red button, red button. Okay, wait, damn it! Sir, did he fall on red button alpha, delta, beta, or zeta?"

"I don't know!" Vader barked. He spun and pointed at a random man. "You, did Captain Sober fall on red button alpha, delta, beta, or zeta?"

"I don't know."

"If find your lack of knowledge irritating."

"So do something about it you horny man! That's right, I said horny man! I know what you watch in the mornings."

"You are a foolish idiot, prepare to die."

"Ha! You gonna make me watch your dead chick show? Huh, what are you gonna do Darth Horny?! Huh?! What?!"

"This."

Using the Force, Vader grabbed hold of a nearby cut of coffee, he dumped it on the man's head, causing him to run around screaming: "Ahhhh! Hot, hot, hot!" before tripping over a control panel and sustaining blunt trauma to the head, severe enough to cause him to die, or at least suffer permanent brain damage.

"Can someone tell me which button?!"

"Uh, sir, it doesn't matter, we can find the cause by alarm tone," spoke up a man in the crew pit.

Vader sighed. "Alright! How do we do that?"

"We must type in a brief description of the sound. Apparently each one is distinct."

Everyone on the bridge paused for a moment to listen.

"I think it sounds like my broken HoloNet set," offered one man.

"No! It sounds like my girlfriend when—"

"No! No! It sounds like Emperor Palpatine from those scandalous videos on the internet!"

"No! You're all wrong, it sounds like Lord Vader's snoring!"

"Watch it," Vader warned.

"No! You twits, it sounds like a wookie gurgling oil, while piloting a ship, performing a mating call, watching the War Stars Holiday Special, and drunkenly stomping around a strip club."

"Well," said the man at the control panel. "That's the most detailed one. Let's see."

A slight pause.

"Okay, we have seven thousand, eight hundred and ninety seven results."

"For the love of George!" the Sith Lord bellowed. "Cross reference it with red buttons alpha, beta, delta, and zeta or whatever the hell they were."

"Very well………… We have three results, but only one is for a red button, zeta to be exact."

"What does the alarm mean?!" Vader asked with angry anticipation.

"Uh… let's see… alarm indicates the livestock in the hold have been released for fertilization, hyper embryo growth, and forced labor."

"That's ghastly!" Vader exclaimed.

"I agree, someone needs to sort this out."

"Not me."

"But, sir, you are the only one who has knowledge of livestock breeding!"

"What makes you say that?"

"Your internet history."

"Damn it! I thought someone was hacking my account! I shall find them later, however, I should probably make a deal with this man to not tell anyone in exchange for me sorting out the problem. However, I could simply threaten to shoot him out the airlock, but no. That is a horrible idea… I've done that seventy three times this week… well… no… I've got nothing….."

"You know, you said that all out loud."

"It's called a… something that begins with an A! William Shakespeare uses it, so shut up! Do you not think I'm aware when I say things out loud?!"

"I think you need therapy."

"Damn straight, especially since I'm going to have to deal with those livestock."

"Really?" asked the crewman.

"Yes. I'll be back soon, hopefully. But first…." Vader spun and pointed to a randomly selected officer upon the bridge and announced him captain.

_Afternoon_

After dealing with those livestock, Lord Vader set out the cafeteria of the _Devastator _where he always picked up a quick bite to eat. Namely two flavored protein bars and a glass of water, the flavors being either evil parsley, or evil lard. Today the Sith Lord was feeling in a lard mood, besides parsley was disgusting. Gathering up an recycled gray tray, Lord Vader proceeded into the gray room, to the gray counter which served as the lunch line. Incredibly terrible chefs dressed in gray stood waiting to serve food, most of which was gray, including the protein bars.

Vader stopped at that particular station, a burly man was operating it with the tattoo of what appeared to be a hutt's rear end on his arm. Unappetizing indeed.

"Wha'll it be, Lord?" asked the man.

"I'll have two lard protein bars and a glass of water please," Vader requested politely, trying to fall into a good mood after that horrible ordeal with breeding animals. He had had Captain Sober executed for that, and he still did not know the name of the new captain.

"Oh, sorry," the chef said. "We're all out of lard."

"What?! Who else eats them?!"

"That guy from level eighty-three, think he's anorexic, took both of 'em."

"Why did you only make two?!"

"All out. Would you care for some parsley flavored ones?"

"Fine," Vader sighed, allowing the gray bars to be dropped on his tray. As the chef began to pour him a glass of water the Sith Lord spoke again. "Who is in charge of shipping?"

"Which branch?"

"What bloody branch do you think?! Food!"

"That'll be Tom Sanders."

"Tell Tom Sanders to order more lard flavored protein bars, or I shall forcibly turn him inside out."

"I'll keep that in mind. Here ye go."

"Thank you," said Vader, taking the water and protein bars into the crowded, gray cafeteria. Sighing, the Sith Lord approaching the nearest table, killed the stormtrooper in the spot he wanted, sat down, and rubbed his hands together.

"Uh…" trailed off Private Jim Calhoun, sitting directly before him.

"What?" Vader snapped, his façade deteriorating. He had tried to keep himself in a pleasant mood, tried so very hard.

"What exactly are you doing here?"

"Preparing to eat."

"Yeah, but why _here_?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you need to take off your helmet?"

"Yes. Of course I need to take of my helmet to eat, are you one of those retarded specimens from the science lab? You should return immediately, I realize the experiments seem cruel, however, in the end when we synthesize of medication to rid people of their moronic tendencies, the world will have you to thank, despite the fact you are dead."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Oh, shit, that's top secret. Keep that on the down low, if you will. Now please, shut your retarded mouth and let me eat."

"But won't you die if you take off your helmet? Don't you need to be in, like, a special chamber or something?"

"No, of course not, stupid man. That is a common misconception, I can take off my helmet anywhere I please," Vader replied matter-of-factly and began to tug at his black helm.

"Whatever you say…" said Jim.

Vader nodded and finally yanked off his helmet, revealing his pale, white, scarred face to everyone in the cafeteria, they all threw up immediately.

"What?" asked the Sith, setting his helmet on the table.

"What happened to your face?!" Jim Calhoun bellowed.

"Ah, it's a long story, you see, I was a very sexy man, according to tabloids. A woman named Padmé Amidala was my wife. Well, to make a long story short, Emperor Palpatine took me as his apprentice, Padmé didn't like it. She came to me with this sob story about Obi-Wan telling her I turned to the Dark Side. So, I was like, no, that's not true, right? But then, see, Obi-Wan comes out of her ship. Funny, really, I thought she brought him to kill me so I choked her 'cause I got pissed off. I was really bummed, see, cause the bitch was already knocked up with my kid and she died later, don't know what happened to my kid. Anyway, Obi-Wan and I fought, I won of course, however, I hit myself in the face with my own lightsaber, fell back into a lava pit, and here we are today."

Everyone threw up again.

"I heard Obi-Wan won that fight," said a crewman.

"That is another common misconcept…." Vader trailed off and coughed hysterically.

Jim raised his eyebrow from across the table. "What's the matter?"

"Can't breathe! Can't breathe!" the helmetless Sith Lord choked.

"Ah, the common misconception, I see."

"Shut up!" Vader gasped, he reached for his mask and returned it to its rightful place, then said: "I cannot help it, the nicotine they put into those bloody cigarettes is addicting."

"Whatever, Lord Vader," Jim replied skeptically. "You should probably leave now and go up to your chamber to eat."

"Nonsense, I've lost my appetite."

"Why's that?"

"From talking to you idiots, you remind me too much of your mother."

"What'd you just say?" Jim asked dangerously.

"That's right," said Vader gangster-like. "I said yo momma! We had a good time a while back."

"That's it!"

Jim flew into the air, diving across the table toward the Sith Lord.

"No!" Vader shouted, drawing his blood red lightsaber, sticking the hilt in between his middle and ring finger, and using it to slice the man's head off. "That's it! What now fool?!"

The victor of the minor scuffle held his weapon high, in a sense, flipping everyone in the room off. Nobody spoke. Vader sighed, deactivated his blade, and left to carry on with the rest of the day.

_Evening_

The day was winding down for Lord Vader, he always spent the hours between seven p.m. and ten p.m. watching his favorite TV programs. Everybody Loves Raygun, the O'flyly Factor, and finally Imperial Idol whose time had been changed, by request of the Sith, so as not to conflict with the O'flyly Factor.

First up was Everybody Loves Raygun. It was a rerun, however, since the man who had played Raygun's father had died. After it had ended, the O'flyly Factor began, Lord Vader's personal favorite.

The image of commentator Bill O'flyly filled the Sith Lord's HoloNet screen, he was a balding man of a later age, Vader always respected his opinions on Imperial Politics, and the Emperor liked him too as he claimed to be fair and balanced, however, was forced to show support to Sidious subtly.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to zero spin zone," said O'flyly, waving a mini lightsaber in a circle as though it created a tangible zone, in which spinning was not allowed. Vader always enjoyed that. "In tonight's talking points, the Imperial Senate voted today to send a surplus of troops to the front lines to deal with the Rebels. I believe this is an excellent idea, of course we all know Rebel-winged media will go nuts when they hear it. But not us, the Nox News Network has always been fair and balanced. Now, on to our main subject of tonight. The election of Imperial Speaker of the Senate since Lord Sidious gave that job up a while ago. Unconfirmed reports suggest he did so to eventually blow the place up, and dissolve all Senators, but these come from the Rebel-winged media nuts.

"Of course we all know that John Darthbane has won the Republican nomination, but we are still waiting to see who comes home with the Imperiocrat nomination. As viewers know, this is between Billary Clinray, and Sharak Sith Huttbama. I sat down for an interview with both Billary and Sharak separately. Take a look."

"Hell yeah!" Vader shouted. "Kick their butts O'flyly! Use the Force, it is strong with you!"

The screen changed to reveal a completely gray room, in which sat Bill O'flyly and Billary Clinray on gray stools.

"Welcome, Mrs. Clinray, to the O'flyly Factor. Here we tried to be fair and balanced."

"Ahahahbullhahashithaha!" Billary cackled. "Good to be here, Bill."

"We're glad to have you."

"I know you are."

"Yes, well, to our first question of the interview. We understand your husband has infidelities."

"Not true," Clinray snapped.

"But we have video footage of him entering a motel room with a Monica Starwinsky and exiting drunk and nearly nude. Roll the tape."

"NO!" Billary bellowed. "Yes, alright, my husband was, in fact, seeing another woman."

"I see, and how will this affect your campaign."

"It won't."

"Right, well, may I ask why you chose to stay with your husband?"

Billary's eyes narrowed every so slightly, a massive grin plastered upon her face. "Because I love him dearly, and I am the kind of person who gives second chances."

"Are you sure it's not because he makes you more credible? By that, I mean, you would be the first female Senate Speaker. At one time, your husband, far back in the Old Republic's time, served that position. Some people, myself included, wonder if you can handle it, or if your husband is going to aid you along the way, by that, I mean, rule."

"Oh, no, that's not the reason," said Clinray blinking rapidly. "I am a strong capable leader, and it's time for change after eight years of George Luca'ush."

"Very well, I'll accept that," replied O'flyly. "Last question. How do you differ yourself from your opponent, Sharak Sith Huttbama?"

"Well, our policies are completely different."

"No, they're all the same."

"What? No, they're not."

"Yes, they are, roll the tape."

A short burst of film rolled through, displaying clips of both Clinray and Huttbama announcing their policies, all of which, were, almost, word-for-word the same.

"How do you explain that?" O'flyly asked. "Why should our viewers vote for you, rather than Huttbama."

"Well, first of all, I have a scheme on taxes that will not bankrupt the Imperial economy in any way, and help all those paying for fuel. Huttbama doesn't care about that. Plus, I am stronger leader with more experience. I have ten years as a senator, he has three." Billary said, eyes blinking rapidly again.

"Very well, and there you have it."

The screen flashed to O'flyly in his newsroom.

"Now, on to my interview with Sharak Huttbama."

The view returned to the very same room, but instead of Billary, Sharack Huttbama sat opposite Bill O'flyly.

"Welcome to the O'flyly Factor."

"Nice day, isn't it?" Sharack asked.

"It's nice to have you."

"It's nice to be in this gray room."

"Alright…" Bill trailed off slightly. "On to our first question Senator Huttbama. Your middle name has become somewhat controversial in the past few weeks."

"Yes, I've heard of that. However, my policy on illegal drug trafficking far outweighs the suspicion of my middle name and--"

"Are you attempting to avoid the question?"

"What, no, of course not."

"Then why aren't you answering."

"Well, you know, I feel that the Empire doesn't really care about such trivial things as my name."

"Alright, since you won't answer—"

"I just did."

"No, you didn't."

"I did!" Huttbama insisted.

"No, no, no. You're clearly avoiding my question, now give me a straight answer."

"Yes, well, my middle name has nothing to do with anything negative."

"You're still avoiding it."

"Well, Bill, maybe we should move on to something else."

"What of your reverend then? Reverend Wrong, I think his name is. He has some very anti-human policies."

"What? Well, I really don't think he does, I mean--"

"I beg to differ, role the tape. You're not avoiding this, the Imperial Public are going nuts. ROLE THE TAPE!"

Vader scratched the lower side of his helmet as the screen changed to reveal Reverend Wrong, a Twi'lek, speaking to a vast number of aliens.

"And so, with this in mind, we will no longer live in the oppression of any human! Black, white, purple, blue or green, any human! The Empire is ruled by their scum and trash, and they look down upon us! Well, damn then, damn their chil—"

The screen switched back to O'flyly.

"And it just deteriorates from there. How do you respond to that?"

"Well, you know… no comment."

"You have to have something to say."

"I said no comment, Bill. This interview is over."

"Before you leave, would you stand up and sing the Imperial anthem."

"No comment."

And with that, Sharack Sith Huttbama left. Bill O'flyly's face returned to the screen, the newsroom his background now. He smiled.

"And there you have it, both Imperiocrats obviously did not want to be there, and are obviously pinheads. We're at the end of our show tonight and I've already given you the pinhead. The patriot is, of course, Emperor Palpatine, who has endorsed John Darthbane. Before we let you go tonight, I'll read off some of the comments on our show from last week when I interviewed one of the Emperor's Red Robed guards. They are as follows:

"'_Bill, I think that guy was a whiny little bitch and deserved a good kick in the ass. Kudos for screaming at him.'_ That one's from Heraldo-Gongo-Gorgo-Xarlin Smith of Dantooine.

"'_Bill, you were too hard on him, you are an asshole.'_—Mrs. Bill-O'flyly-is-a-bitch of Yo mama. Thank you, you fearful little woman, couldn't even post your own name.

"Next comment. '_Bill, about the segment about whether or not the Emperor had liposuction, I know for a fact he didn't. I am one of his guards, and the reason he entered that clinic was because his right leg was covered in blood-sucking leeches.' _From the Red Robed Guard of Coruscant. Thank you sir, I'm sure everyone bought that.

"That concludes our show. I'm Bill O'flyly, please, if you want a comment keep them pithy and do not be a 'pissed-off-pansie-assed-son-of-a-bitch', a blooter, or be a connote to us. Look 'em up. I'm Bill O'flyly, we do hope to see you again, and the spin stops right here, 'cause we're definitely looking out for you."

Vader nodded his head in improvement and eagerly awaited Imperial Idol as someone off camera told Bill that he used connote wrong. However, O'flyly's response he did not see as Idol began. The host Brian Peefest announced the very first episode in which auditions would take place. The rest of the show was rather dull because everyone sucked. The highlight was probably Judge Slimy Bowell's comment to an incredibly fat hutt.

"That was utterly atrocious," Bowell had said. "It was akin to having my ears cut off with a butter knife while being sawed in half from the CENSORED crack up to through my skull. I mean, what the bloody hell was that. You were singing in Huttese! That made if even worse! I felt like I was being hit across the face with a golf club repeatedly. You, sir, suck, get the bloody hell out and stop wasting my time."

With that, Lord Vader went to bed, ready for another day.


End file.
